


We've Become Desolate

by insanechayne



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 4 will be the death of me, Written because of a post on tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanechayne/pseuds/insanechayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON 4</p><p>After Carol is banished from the group Daryl decides to go find her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire And Fury

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw a post on tumblr with the idea of Carol going back to the farm and Daryl going off to find her there, sleeping on Sophia's grave with a Cherokee Rose in her hand, and someone was asking for it to be made into a fanfiction, so I can to the rescue.   
> I don't know how long this will end up being. Probably no more than three chapters at the most. But I'm sure it'll be fun to read/write regardless. 
> 
> Enjoy, everyone.

The sound of Rick’s boots on the concrete perks Daryl’s ears, but doesn’t completely bring him out of his whirlwind thoughts, nor does it make him stop pacing the floor. He’s nearly worn a hole into the ground at this point, but it’s the only thing that’s keeping him from just flying the coop and taking off; he doesn’t have the faintest idea of where he would go, he just knows he wants to be out of here.

The footfalls end at the cell’s entryway, but Daryl doesn’t look up at Rick. He can’t bring himself to meet those placid blue eyes, because he knows that one glance would be his undoing. He’s made such progress from those early days in Atlanta. He’s no longer the surly asshole that most people didn’t give a damn for. No, he’s a changed man now, someone Rick and the rest of them respect, and Daryl’s pretty sure that none of them would take too kindly to him beating Rick into the ground. Because that’s what he feels like doing right now. He wants to hit Rick the same way Rick hit Tyreese, only difference is there’s no one around now to stop him from going too far, no one who’d even stand a chance of pulling him back once he actually got started. So he looks everywhere but at Rick’s face, because even though he does want to hurt the man, he doesn’t really want to do anything that rash.

“What d’ya want, Rick?” Daryl spits out, stopping his pacing to stare at the wall.

He’s not completely giving Rick his back, but he’s damn close. Rick can just barely make out the slope of Daryl’s nose and jawline, along with a wall of wispy hair.

“Just want to talk.” Rick speaks calmly, and that only works to make Daryl angrier. You’d think after the decision Rick made he’d be a bit more emotional, or at least a little more passionate.

“Ain’t nothin’ to talk about. You made yourself clear.”

Rick sighs, searching for the words to say to make the redneck willing to listen to him, but no words come to mind. He wants to just reach out and grab the man’s bare shoulder, spin him around and force him into looking back, but he knows that would only make Daryl recede further into his shell.

“I know.” Rick says. He made himself very clear, and now he’s wondering if maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do. “I want you to talk, is probably what I should have said. I need to know what you’re thinking, Daryl.”

Daryl actually lets out something akin to a laugh, a snort blowing from his nostrils. “What I’m thinkin’ don’t mean a damn to you. What the rest of ‘em woulda thought, that didn’t matter neither. You wanna be back up on yer high horse, makin’ the decisions for all of us, then fine. But don’t pretend to care about my opinion.”

Rick shakes his head, looking down at the small ring Carol had given him, staring at its slowly ticking watch face. He’s wearing it on the pinky finger of his right hand, though he sure as hell doesn’t know why. Maybe he feels like he owes her that much, to wear the token she bestowed to him as she parted.

“She was a murderer, Daryl.”

Daryl stays silent for a while. He knows that what Rick has said is right, he knows deep in his heart of hearts that Carol had made a change for the worse. And if it were anyone else in the world he’d be able to let it slide, to cheer Rick’s decision and stand behind it. But it’s not just anyone else in the world; it’s Carol.

“In this life who ain’t.” Daryl murmurs, his words almost inaudible; Rick strains to catch them.

Neither of them speak for several minutes, simply stand at odds with one another and wait for the other to do or say something.

Surprisingly enough, it is Daryl who speaks up. “It was Carol, Rick. Carol. Maybe what she done ain’t right; I certainly ain’t gonna defend her. But ya shoulda at least let her come before the rest of us, let us all decide. And, if in the end of that trial majority said she outta go, well I coulda lived with that. But this decision you made all on your own… well, that just ain’t right, Rick. It wasn’t yer call to make.”

And Rick knows that Daryl is right, too, and that’s the real kicker. He took up a position he had long since resigned just because it suited him to do so. He still thinks it was the right decision, and no one will ever be able to convince him differently, but he also thinks now that maybe the way he handled things wasn’t the best. Just like when Shane broke the locks off the barn and let the captive walkers loose for the showdown of the apocalypse. His motives were right, but his actions were wrong.

Rick’s just beginning to realize that part of himself now, and he wishes that he’d just let her come back with him, wishes he’d just presented the case to the group and let the chips fall where they may. Carol wouldn’t have objected. She was guilty, but she wasn’t trying to get off the hook for it. She would have been honest about what she had done and why she had done it.

But there’s nothing he can do now but try to patch up the mistakes he’s made.

Daryl’s eyes stray to the floor beside the bed as he waits for Rick to leave, and that’s when he sees it. There’s a worn and withered Cherokee Rose in a beer bottle pressed between the wall and the foot of the bed. It’s long since dead, but it’s still recognizable. And Daryl knows that’s the same exact flower he gave to Carol after she lost Sophia. He is taken aback by just how long she has kept it, even though it is no longer as beautiful as it once was.

The rose, that’s what makes up his mind. He can’t just sit here in the prison, pacing holes in the floor of Carol’s cell, while she’s out there on her own. And he even knows where she’d go, too; the rose at her bedside proves it.

Without a word Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and brushes past Rick, barely even noticing the way the man flinches out of his way.

“Where are you going?” Rick asks, practically having to shout after him.

“To get Carol.”


	2. Where've The Good Times Gone

Carol’s vision is blurred over with tears, making the road seem like it’s in the middle of a raging storm, and she knows she should pull over to dry her eyes rather than keep going, but frankly she wouldn’t really care if she got into an accident right now.

She doesn’t care about crashing, and she doesn’t care about dying. No one’s ever going to find her again, anyway, so why try to be careful? It’s just her now, and she’s not so sure she wants to live with herself anymore.

_“When the others find out they won’t want you there. And if everyone dies and in the end it’s just you and me and Carl and Judith, my children, I won’t **have** you there.”_

Rick’s words resound in her mind, filling the space entirely until it drowns out even the sound of the sobs clawing their way up her throat. He hates her now, she knows that. And no doubt when he tells the others they will, too. But that’s alright, because she never has to face their accusations ever again. She can go where she wants and do what she thinks is right and just _be_. Somehow that thought is more distasteful than appealing.

She takes her hands off the wheel for a moment, feeling the car veer slightly to one side, and wonders just what it would feel like to run right off the road and into a ditch or a tree or a herd of walkers. She wonders if there would be pain before she died, or if it would be instantaneous. Mostly she wonders whether or not anyone would bother to put her down if she turned; the answer easily filling that question is no.

She almost doesn’t take the wheel again, almost lets the car crunch around a telephone pole, almost faces eternity. But at the last second she does take the wheel and sharply jerks it to the right, correcting her course by about three inches.

The tears haven’t stopped, not completely, but they have slowed slightly, and her vision is somewhat clearer now. In the distance she can see a massive pile-up of cars, and it reminds her of the place where the lost Sophia, of their time on the farm, and most of all it reminds her of Daryl.

Daryl, who had done so much for her, for her little girl, was probably back at the prison by now. Or if he wasn’t he would be by nightfall, because that’s just how Daryl is. And maybe Rick’s told him already, or maybe he hasn’t, but either way he will, and then Daryl will hate her, too, and that thought makes her wish she had just kept her hands off the steering wheel for good.

The tears come on strong once more, her entire vision dissolving in a watery haze, and she slams on the breaks in the middle of the deserted road. She wraps her arms around her torso and sobs, her cries echoing in the small space she’s enclosed in. Waterfalls pour from her eyes for too many long minutes, and they do not ebb for many more.

Her mind lingers on Daryl’s face, how long his hair had grown, how the hardness in his eyes had receded, especially when he looked at her. She had gotten him to smile, more than once, and now those smiles haunt her, ghosts of memory chased away by circumstance.

Somehow the knowledge that she will never see him again isn’t what hurts her the most. No, what hurts the most is the knowledge that his memories of her will be forever tainted by what she’s done, by what Rick will tell him she’s done; knowing that he will hate even the thought of her is what’s practically putting her into an early grave.

But she doesn’t blame him for hating her. She doesn’t deserve his love or his kindness; she doesn’t deserve that from any of them, not anymore. She just wishes she had some way to make amends, to make that hatred a little less strong.

After what feels like hours she eventually straightens up, dries her eyes, and continues on down the road.

She’s searching for a way around the cars when it hits her: this is the same highway where they lost Sophia.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been going in this direction, yet here she was. Maybe it was just her subconscious directing her to the only place where she would be able to find solace: Sophia’s grave.

She hastily turns the car around and searches for the turn-off to Hershel’s farm, a small piece of her sorrow being lifted with every mile she draws closer to the place.

~ ~ ~

Time has burned the raging fire of Carol’s memories into nothing but charred black land and piles of ash that were once a barn, a horse stable, and a lovely country home. The trees both on the land and around it are nothing by ghostly black twigs reaching up toward the sky as if in some kind of agonizing prayer, though one never answered.

Luckily, the graves were far enough away that they remained untouched by the flames, and Carol thinks that maybe that’s a sign that this is where she’s meant to be after all. And, as even more luck would have it, she can see the Cherokee Rose bushes that Daryl showed her off in the distance, their blooms few and far between but there all the same.

She walks slowly over to them, taking her time and surveying the land for any walkers that may have remained or wandered into the area, her fingers curved through the loops of her brass-knuckle knife like they’re meant to be there.

The flowers are in perfect bloom, the whites of the petals as pure as sunshine, the middles a gorgeous shade of gold that shows just how much they are worth. These flowers are treasures, something to be admired, and that’s exactly what Carol does, standing close to them and staring intently at their natural details, inhaling their sweet scents.

Her mind strays to the withered rose she has back at home, back at the prison, the one that Daryl gave to her to help her cope with Sophia. She kept it all that time, her most prized possession, and now it is gone. Tears threaten once again, but she refuses to let them fall this time.

Instead she tries to focus on finding the perfect one, one that will symbolize her new life, her fresh start. After a few more seconds of looking she finds it. It has five petals, each one symmetrical and spaced perfectly apart, the whites looking delicate and pure while the gold looks exotic and promises of good fortune. This is the one she cuts off at the stem with her knife and gently cradles to her chest, careful not to smash it.

A genuine smile lights her face as she walks back to the makeshift cemetery. She walks right up to Sophia’s grave and falls to her knees in the dirt, her fingertips stroking the wood of the vaguely cross-shaped marker.

And that’s when she realizes that this is where she was always meant to be. She was never supposed to leave Sophia’s side, in life or death. That thought brings her something close to peace, and she knows now what the right thing to do is. She will join her daughter on the other side.

Trying to stab herself in the head would be too hard, and besides there’s no one around to find her as a walker. Trying to cut her own throat would be too painful, she thinks. So she will slit her wrists instead, both of them, one after the other. She’s cut herself before, no reason she can’t do it again. Just follow the paths of the old scars winding over her wrists, maybe make some new ones, easy as a hot knife going through soft butter.

But not tonight. Tonight she was sleep on Sophia’s grave, will make her silent amends to the friends and family she was forced to leave behind.

Tomorrow is another day.


	3. This Could Be The Difference Between What You Want And What You Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title fit better while listening to the song it's a part of, I must admit. But I'm too lazy to look for anything better.   
> I think I might be almost done with this. Maybe just one or two chapters left until it can be wrapped up. We'll have to see. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

The roar of the motorcycle is the only sound on the deserted highways, no doubt attracting dozens of walkers Daryl’s way, but he’d be long gone before they even got close to him. He was determined to reach the farm before nightfall, and he wasn’t about to slow down for hell or highwater, or walkers.

He tries to let the growling engine of the bike drown out his thoughts, tries to just concentrate on finding the quickest path to the farm, and the way the wind blew his hair back, but he can’t shut the voices out completely. They are loud, pestering him with unanswerable questions, and they are starting to give him a headache.

What was he going to do when he found Carol? What was there to be gained in tracking her down? Surely he couldn’t bring her back to the prison with him, nor could he stay away for more than a few days. There should have been some kind of third option, something that would suit everyone, but nothing came to mind.

Maybe he was just hoping that it wasn’t really true, that she hadn’t really killed anyone. Maybe she had lied to Rick, had forced him into believing because she was covering for someone else. Though he couldn’t think of who she’d give a damn enough about to risk getting kicked out of the group or dying for, aside from him, and he hadn’t done anything. But if it wasn’t true she would tell him, wouldn’t she? She would be honest with him about that, because he wasn’t Rick. He wasn’t going to make any rash decisions that could cost her her life, because he didn’t need to, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go running back to the group with his jaws flappin’ every which way about whatever she did say to him.

But what if she really did do it? What if she wasn’t covering for anybody, and had deserved to be banished from their group? What would he do then? He said he wanted to find the person who killed Karen and David, put a bolt in them for it, but he couldn’t exactly do that to Carol. She was his closest friend, aside from Rick, and he wouldn’t be able to execute her unless she was dead and trying to eat him.

Daryl shakes his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. Even if she did kill them, she wasn’t at the prison anymore, and she wasn’t coming back anytime soon; there was no need to think of executing her, because it was an unnecessary option. If she killed them, if she admitted to him that she murdered two innocent people, regardless of the reason, he’d just let that be the end of it. He’d go back to the prison, back to the group, and he’d try to erase her from his memory. It’d be hard, but he’d done it before, and he could do it again.

He just needed to hear it for himself, not second-hand from Rick. He wouldn’t be able to believe that it was true until Carol herself said it to him.

~ ~ ~

The sky is dark when Daryl finally manages to find the farm again, a small herd having deterred him to a different turn off. It takes him an hour or two longer to get there than it would have, but all that matters is that he has reached his destination unscathed, and now his only mission is to find Carol.

The house and barn have been burnt to the ground, and there is no area where she could safely take refuge, but Daryl knows that shelter wasn’t what she had been looking for. He remembers all too well where the Cherokee Rose bushes stood, not too far off from the graves of the ones they’d lost, and he figures she’ll be in one of those places.

He decides to walk over to the graves first, and he’s glad he did, because there she is, laying in the dirt over Sophia’s final resting place, curled onto her side. There is something under her head, most likely a spare backpack she had taken when she left the prison that morning, and a blanket his draped over her like a burial shroud.

But something’s wrong; Carol is too still. He can’t see the rise and fall of her chest, can’t hear any sound coming from her. And that’s when he starts running, taking off like a bat out of hell just to reach her side.

He doesn’t know what could have happened to her, all alone with no walkers, or people, around for miles, and he’s not too sure he wants to roll through all the possibilities, because the most poignant sign flashing through his head is “SUICIDE” in bold, red letters. If she’d done it right she’d never come back as a walker, would never move again and give away the fact that she was dead. She’d just look like she was resting peacefully on top of a grave, perhaps in mourning, and if anyone did wander by they might not even notice her.

He wants to scream her name, but his mouth is too dry and his throat is closed up so much he can’t even breathe right. She can’t be dead, not yet, not that way. His footfalls fill his ears, taking away the sounds of his heartbeats, and he’s certain that means his heart isn’t beating at all at this point.

It only takes a few seconds to reach her, but it feels like hours and miles have passed by in just that short space of time, and he prays that he isn’t too late, prays that even if he is she will hear him say goodbye from wherever she is now.

Daryl drops to his knees on the dirt beside her, practically skidding into her body and the wooden marker. He isn’t gentle as he grips her shoulder and flips her onto her back, searching for some form of life.

And that’s when Carol’s eyes shoot open, wide, feral, and somehow terrified, her hand darting down to her waistband to grab her knife. She stops cold when she sees that it is Daryl hovering over her, her breath nearly sticking in her throat. A gasp manages to escape, and then a sob, and then she is crying again, her blue eyes turning into a stormy sea.

Carol had been dreaming about Daryl, had been dreaming about this exact moment, just before he had woken her. She isn’t sure why she is crying, but she thinks it has something to do with the fact that her dream has come true, her prince has come for her just like she had always imagined as a child, and despite her mistakes and misgivings it is a beautiful moment.

“Shh, Carol, s’just me.” Daryl speaks softly, trying to calm her. He wasn’t expecting tears, and he has no clue how to handle them. He startled her, sure, but this reaction is way out of his league.

Daryl pats her shoulder, trying to think of some other way to comfort her into quiet, when he notices she is clutching something to her chest. Upon closer inspection he sees that it is a fresh Cherokee Rose, a perfect bloom snipped off midway down it’s stem’s length.


	4. Just Give It Up 'Cause Your Time Is Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put off taking a nap before work to put this out for you guys, so you better appreciate it.   
> But this chapter came out better than expected, and that pleases me greatly. 
> 
> Ok, enjoy.

Daryl studies the Cherokee Rose as he attempts to soothe Carol’s cries, his thumb gently stroking her shoulder. The bloom is perfect in every way, and somehow seeing Carol clutch it tightly to her chest makes her seem more innocent and pure than before. And maybe she really did kill two people only a few days ago, but seeing her like this Daryl’s hard pressed to believe that.

“C’mon, Carol, quit cryin’. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Daryl whispers, his eyes still locked on the flower, his thumb still rubbing frantic circles into the fabric of Carol’s shirt.

Carol shakes her head, her hair tussling with her movements, and lifts up her free hand to wipe her eyes. “I know you won’t, Daryl. That’s not why I’m crying.”

She lets out a few more sniffles and hiccups while he stares at her, dumbfounded. “Why ya cryin’ then?” In Daryl’s book the only emotions that constitute tears are sorrow, pain, or fear, and while she isn’t afraid and doesn’t appear to be hurt he wonders if maybe she’s in mourning for the group she had to leave behind; in his mind it’s really the only explanation.

So her answer surprises him enough to make his eyes widen just slightly and snap his gaze back to her. “I’m crying because I’m happy to see you. I thought I never would again.”

Daryl is too shocked to speak, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. He looks away, back to that damn flower on her chest, and wonders how anyone could ever be happy to see him, especially the beautiful woman on the ground in front of him. And she really is beautiful, he sees that now. Her eyes, wet from the tears, are a sparkling blue, perfect as the noon sky, and though her hair is shot through with silver it frames her face nicely and brings that aura of purity back into her features.

Carol is beautiful and soft and warm, and Daryl has the oddest urge to just pull her up into his arms and hug her tightly and not release her until the sun comes up and graces her angelic face with its white rays. But he doesn’t do any of that; he just clumsily pats her shoulder and stares at her with an odd mix of confusion and longing.

And then she does something unexpected: she lifts the hand not clutching the Cherokee Rose, bringing it to his face, and gently brushes her fingers over his cheekbone, as if she has to make sure he’s real and not some merciful mirage. Daryl let’s her do this, trying to remain calm and relaxed at something still so unfamiliar to him, and has to fight the urge to lean into her touch.

“Daryl, I…” Carol’s voice trails off, hitching in her throat as a fresh sob chokes off her air. Daryl is afraid she’s going to choke for real when she starts coughing, but after a few seconds she’s fine again. “I’m so sorry.”

Daryl is taken aback once again. What is she apologizing for? Maybe she’s trying to say she’s sorry that he came out all this way out to find her, because she really did kill two people and his trip out here was worthless. But that doesn’t seem quite right.

“What for?” He asks, his tone as gentle as he can possibly make it.

“For not being able to say goodbye. For making you waste your time to come and find me when you should have just left me to die.” She shakes her head, stale tears rolling from the sides of her cheeks down to her hair.

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, woman? You ain’t gonna die.” Daryl huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I am. Tomorrow. I’m going to slit my wrists right here on Sophia’s grave, spend my final moments with her before I get to see her again in eternity.” Carol says it so matter-of-factly, with a small smile curling her lips just slightly upward, that Daryl doesn’t fully register the weight of her words for a few seconds.

Daryl grips her shoulders tightly, pulling her up into a sitting position and forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’re bein’ stupid, Carol. I thought you were fuckin’ smarter ‘n this, smart enough to survive on yer own, fer a while at least. But now yer tellin’ me yer just gonna fuckin’ give up, just ‘cause Rick went and kicked you out?”

Carol recoils from him slightly, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he holds her firmly in place, giving her no choice but to deal with him. “This isn’t because of Rick. It’s just what’s meant to be. I was never supposed to leave Sophia, I know that now. She died because of me, because I didn’t keep an eye on her, just like you said on that night all those months ago. You were right, Daryl, you were always right, and I just never listened to you.”

Daryl’s face goes blank, an emotionless slate that is more frightening even than his anger. He has a brief thought of slapping some sense into her, but that is more a euphemism than anything else; he would never raise his hand to a woman that way, least of all Carol.

“Sophia didn’t die ‘cause of you. Wasn’t yer fault any more’n anyone else’s.”

“Don’t patronize me, Daryl; it doesn’t suit you.” Carol’s eyes harden, and she tries again to squirm away from him.

But Daryl isn’t ready to let her go, not yet. Instead he grips her tighter, pulling her just that much closer to him. They are only a few inches apart, and Carol can feel Daryl’s warmth even through the layers of his long sleeved shirt and angel-wing vest, the heat of his frustration rolling off of him in waves.

“Yer bein’ ridiculous, Carol. This ain’t the woman I know.”

“The woman you know didn’t kill two people, either, Daryl, yet here we are.”

“So you didn’t do it?” Daryl’s eyes spark with something close to hope, though he can’t bring himself to fully give into that emotion, not yet. He has to hear her say it first, has to know without a doubt that she’s innocent, before he can let the hope enter his heart.

Carol looks away, refusing to meet his gaze, and that small spark he felt just moments before is completely extinguished. She looks guilty, full of sorrow, like she did on the day they found Sophia in the barn. It is a look that is rare for her, but one that Daryl would be able to place even if her were blind.

“Carol, did you kill Karen and David?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen up kids, 'cause this is important.   
> I don't personally believe that Carol killed anyone. I doubt that I ever will. But I know that other people do. And because I am a people pleaser, I want you to decide which way this fic should end.   
> Did she kill them, or didn't she?  
> I don't know how to write it yet, because I don't have a clear cut decision. So I need you all to comment with your opinion on whether or not she committed the crime, that way I can get started on either wrapping this up or planning out more chapters.   
> So please take the time to send in a comment about this, because it really is important if you want this story to continue.


	5. Suffocating Under Words Of Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I waited for the new episode to come out before I wrote anything, just in case there were new hints or clues revealed about the incident, but needless to say nothing like that happened.   
> So what I did was I tallied everyone's votes (from here and ff.net) about whether or not she killed them, and if not who she would be covering for, and then decided to write what the majority of people seemed to want.   
> I hope I did this justice and made the majority happy with this chapter.   
> Enjoy.

Carol tries to look away from Daryl’s gaze, tries not to see the pain and betrayal in those hardened blue eyes, but she has no choice because he refuses to release her. The events of the past few days come back to haunt her as they stay locked in this never ending staring contest, and tears brim in her eyes, threatening to fall.

Daryl, seeing the watery sheen taking over Carol’s eyes, wants to just let her go, wants to pull her close and embrace her. But he’s not too sure he’d be able to do that gently, the way she would deserve, and so he just relaxes his grip on her shoulders a little, softens his expression, and hopes for the best.

Carol doesn’t speak for a while, and Daryl is beginning to think that she really did kill them. In fact, he is about to shake his head and release her completely, maybe even get up and leave on a wave of disappointment, when her whisper floats to him on the breeze.”

“No. I didn’t kill anyone.”

Her voice is so soft that he barely hears her answer, but when it finally hits him he is stunned into silence, trying to process his emotions. He’s ecstatic about this news, happy enough to jump for joy if that weren’t such a stupid thing to do, but at the same time he’s trying to figure out a way to convince Rick and the others that she’s telling the truth so that they’ll let her back into the group; Daryl doesn’t want to go back to the prison without Carol by his side.

“Then who did? You gotta tell me so’s I can try an’ help ya.” Daryl drops his hands from Carol’s shoulders, resting them on his knees, and tries to give her the space he thinks she needs.

Carol closes her eyes and shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts so she can tell Daryl what happened without the pesky memories invading and upsetting her. It’s no use, though; the scene from earlier in the week flashes behind her eyes.

_“Lizzie, what have you done?” Carol gapes at the scene before her, at the blood splattered over the beds and walls and floor._

_Lizzie, who is crouched on the floor, a small knife clutched tightly in her hands, looks up at Carol. And then she smiles, actually smiles like she’s proud of herself. “I did what you told me. I became strong. I saw what needed to be done, so I did it.”_

_Karen and David lay dead on their cots, blood still seeping from their ears where Lizzie stabbed them, just like Carol showed her earlier that day._

_“Why would you do something like this?” Carol asks, cautiously stepping into the cell and kneeling beside Lizzie._

_Lizzie’s face falls a little bit, like she wasn’t expecting this reaction from Carol. “They were going to make us sick. They were going to kill more people. I did what I thought you wanted me to.”_

_Lizzie’s face scrunches up, almost like she’s going to cry, and Carol knows she has to diffuse this situation quickly. She places an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders, pulls her close. “Lizzie, you can’t do things like this anymore. You have to wait until someone has already died before you stab them like that, just to make sure they don’t come back as a walker, or to put them down if they’ve already changed. But these were innocent people, and they might have gotten better if we’d given them more time.”_

_Carol is trying to handle the situation delicately, but Lizzie realizes all too quickly that Carol is disappointed in her actions. She starts to cry, her small frame trembling under Carol’s arm. “I thought this is what you would have wanted.”_

_Carol has nothing to say to that, no way to fully explain to the girl that what she has done is wrong. But she has to act fast and cover up this whole mess before Tyreese comes to check on Karen and finds the two of them crouched in there beside her dead body._

_Carol pulls back and takes Lizzie by the shoulders, making the girl look at her. “Listen to me, Lizzie, you can never tell anyone you did this, okay? This was murder, and you’ll get in serious trouble if the others find out. I’ll cover this up for you and handle Rick and the rest of the group when this comes up, but you have to promise me that you won’t ever do this again, not unless someone is dead and coming after you. Alright?”_

_The girl nods and Carol shoos her away, then drags the two bodies out of their cells and into the small courtyard area a little ways off the hall. There she lays them out in the sun, says a silent prayer for the innocent people who have died, for the troubled little girl still inside, for deliverance from what she is about to do, and for guidance on how to handle Rick, Tyreese, and the rest. And then she douses the bodies in gasoline and sets them aflame._

“Well?” Daryl’s voice startles Carol out of her memories.

Carol’s eyes snap back up to his, and she is almost unable to tell him the truth, almost unable to tell him what really happened. But in the end she manages to force the words out. “It was Lizzie. She thought she was doing the right thing; she wanted me to see her be strong. I covered it up by burning the bodies, but she killed them, Daryl, not me.”

Carol hangs her head, the tears rolling down her cheeks, and Daryl sits in front of her in stunned silence. He is trying to process what exactly would make a girl of no more than twelve or thirteen snap and kill people for the greater good. But sometimes there is no logical explanation for something like that. Sometimes people are just born fucked up and they do things that aren’t right to people that don’t deserve it; he knows that better than anyone after what happened with his dad, and he reckons Carol knows it well enough, too, after her marriage to Ed.

Carol brings her hands up to wipe her tears away, and Daryl catches one of them, holding it tightly in his own. He wants her to look at him, but doesn’t want to be as rough as he was before; he doesn’t want to force her this time, but rather wants her to willingly meet his eyes.

And she does, the stormy blue orbs almost full of more sorrow than he can handle. But he meets her gaze, pain and all, because that’s what he needs to do. “Why didn’t ya tell Rick ‘bout this? Why’d y’let him kick you out for her?”

Carol snorts and rolls her eyes. “What was I going to say to him, Daryl? ‘Oh, by the way, Lizzie’s a psychopath who killed two people because she wanted my approval, and I covered for her by burning the bodies.’ Yeah, that would have gone over well with him. He probably wouldn’t even have believed me about it, because it does sound pretty ridiculous. I’m surprised you believe me, to be honest.”

Daryl knows Carol is right; Rick would have called her a liar, would have said something about weak kids not being that much of a threat, would have forgotten that his own son is a matured young man who isn’t afraid to kill if it comes right down to it.

Daryl rubs his thumb over the back of Carol’s hand, and she smiles slightly at the gesture, which makes his lips curve up in return.

He believes her because he knows her too well. She wouldn’t lie to him, not now that he’s come so far to find her and drag the truth out of her, not when she has nothing left to lose. He believes her because he can tell that she’s being honest with him. He believes her because he loves her, and you’re supposed to trust the people you love.

“Come back with me, Carol. Come an’ tell Rick an’ the rest of ‘em the truth. They’ll believe ya; they’ve known ya too long not to. And then we can figure out how t’get Liz some kinda help, make sure she don’t hurt nobody ever again.”

Carol is shaking her head before Daryl is even done speaking. “I can never go back, Daryl. It would be too hard, and they’ll believe Rick over me if it comes right down to it. I don’t know that I want to see Tyreese again, anyhow, since I am guilty by association in the crime. He’d kill me without a second thought just for covering for Lizzie.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Daryl growls out, his jaw tightening at the thought. “I’d never let him touch you, Carol.”

Carol sighs. “It’s no use, Daryl. They don’t want or need me around, anyway. Just go back to the prison, go back home. Tell them whatever you want about what I said; I don’t care. But leave me here.”

“I ain’t goin’ back without ya, Carol, not when yer innocent in alla this.”

Carol closes her eyes, sighing deeply again. Nothing she can say will make him leave her, will make him leave well enough alone, because he’s just too damn stubborn. So she chooses not to say anything at all about it. Instead she moves closer to him, feigning a chill from the night air, and rests her head against his shoulder.

“Alright, Daryl. Can we just talk about this in the morning? I’m tired and cold, and I’ve said all I can about this subject for one day.”

Daryl takes this opportunity to finally do what he’s been longing to since he first saw her eyes open when she was laying in the dirt: he wraps his arms around her and holds her close, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

Carol smiles faintly, content to have at least this moment with the man she loves. Silently, she pulls him to the ground with her, inching her backpack over so that they can share it as a pillow, and throws the blanket over both of them.

Daryl doesn’t release his hold on her, keeping one arm tucked underneath her, even though he knows that limb will have no feeling come morning. But he doesn’t care about that, because Carol is warm and soft beside him, and she’s innocent, just like he knew she would be.

Rick was wrong, and Daryl will have great pleasure in telling him so tomorrow. But that’s a matter to think about in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I don't know if I should continue this or just let it end right here, since this is as good a place to stop as any.   
> So I need more opinions on that.   
> Tell me guys: do you want me to continue this or just leave it?


End file.
